the streets won't sweep themselves
by Spinkichi
Summary: There were more patches in his mind than on his clothes.


It's time to get my brain back in gear! I've had this one written out for a while. I don't know why, but the idea of Tsuna never becoming a mafia boss interests me. He'd probably quit school, and is now a street cleaner. Street cleaner Tsuna interests me too. I might bring him back one day. Might...

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><p>There had to be more to life than sweeping the streets of the neighborhood he had lived in for his entire life. He'd like to think that he could get a normal job and maybe, just maybe, live a normal life. If he thinks hard enough, he can remember an almost happy time when he was failing school. Or was he the top of his class? It's foggy and he can't remember. The first option, failing and forever ridiculed for poor grades and lack of effort, would make more sense. A genius wouldn't sweep the streets.<p>

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><p>He had a simple routine. Wake up, bathe (the water wasn't always warm), change clothes (he had a decent amount of clothes, but never enough money to wash them). Eat breakfast; toast and coffee. One morning, while at his food stained and worn table (clumsiness wasn't something he outgrew), he noticed a headline in the paper of a famous boxer getting married to a woman with short hair and sharp eyes. His sister had gotten married the year before. The name sounded familiar (Sasagawa?) and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard a wedding bell and the sound of kind laughter and warm smiles in the back of his head, but faintly.<p>

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><p>Work days are the hardest when there are garbage bags in the streets. He has to sit behind walls and corners and wait for the stray dogs to finish their feeding. Dogs have never liked him and they attack at any chance they get with wild eyes and foaming snarls. While he waits, he thinks it's better to be productive and tends to the flowers in the area. No one seems to mind the sudden appearance of shrubs and sprouts and this is relieving because money went into those seeds and it wouldn't be pleasant to find them uprooted and tossed aside the next day. They brighten up the neighborhood with its wooden fences and dull paved sidewalks. Unfortunately, the wind blows the petals off the trees with ease and makes a new mess for another day, but he takes small pleasure in the fact that his work can continue.<p>

'It's a cycle.' He thinks and then laughs, like it's a joke.

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><p>On rainy days, he can't get much done. The rain clears away the dirt in the street and new leaves get washed up. On days like these, he patches up his clothes. Those dogs aren't easy to out run, and his stamina is less than it should be for a man of his age. He always finds the spare cloth to fix his trousers somewhere, which would be more than fine, if it were the same color. Blue must be rare in his house, because his overalls and jeans have an assortment of orange and cream square patches here and there. When he has the time, he'll visit his seamstress. He always goes to the same one, but he can never remember her name. While she can be quite strange (was that a monster costume in the corner of her house?) he can always rely on her. His seamstress (he calls her "his seamstress" in his mind because her name is never on his tongue) has dark hair and a pretty and kind face. That much he can recall. She's deft with a needle and not scared to tell him off with harsh words with underlying amusement when he greets her with another pair of worn pants or holed shirts (because he really isn't careful). His excuses of dogs and nails that appear out of nowhere like illusions never work anymore. But who would believe him after the fourth time, no matter how true it is? He can never remember her name (Haru Miura). She looks hurt one day when he falters on her name and he tries to casually pass it off with a swift dodge out the door. He doesn't visit again in weeks and goes without the only pair of pants that fit almost perfectly.<p>

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><p>The subject of dinner is a touchy one, since he doesn't have money. In the mornings he'll deliver papers for living expenses (it's never enough) so his dinner consists mainly of vegetables he grows and cooks (butchers) on his own. More than once he's come home to find a bag filled to the brim with leftovers on his doorstep. It's almost always sushi. A note is left once reading 'Thanks for your hard work' but the writing is messy, like the person had injured their hand and it was never the same again (it wasn't). A visit to the bar reveals a man with a smiling face and a scarred chin (how was he supposed to know the knife could fly that high?) with a broken spirit in the way he carried his ruined arm. There were trophies on display in the corner. Baseball? Or was that football? Tsuna doesn't remember, the visit to the bar was long ago (last week) but he's grateful for not starving. That's all that matters.<p>

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><p>One night, Tsuna wakes up in cold sweat after having a nightmare about poison and explosives. He doesn't understand, and passes it off with a shrug, trying desperately to ignore the smell of gunpowder lingering on his pillow. The next morning, he wakes up with a cold. There's no work for him today and he sits grimly in his small kitchen reading the paper. Sick and sneezing, he reads about the strange return of the Namimori Disciplinary Committee Leader, who had been gone for weeks. Something about cherry trees and an abandoned amusement park, but the memory is distant and he doesn't really care. Hasn't he been there once before as a child? No? Maybe? Yes? What was the name? He tries to remember as he searches the overhead cupboard in the bathroom for cold medicine and forgets the name of the park altogether. Discovering only a packet of aspirin and a dead roach (he was sure he had bought medicine last week), he goes back to the kitchen to find his paper missing. He must have moved it, but he didn't remember bringing it with him.<p>

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><p>Flurries of colored words leave his mouth when he discovers his newly planted seeds have been washed away by the rain, but it isn't much of a loss. He plants two more for every one, feeling more upbeat with every two gone and with every moment his pocket gets lighter. That night, cheerful singing can be heard from the bathroom of a small apartment.<p>

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><p>It never occurred to him where he gets rental money from. His small jobs only cover items like milk and toothpaste, yet he hasn't been kicked out by the landlady. When he questions her, she smiles nervously and tells him that a friend has taken care of it and that there is no need to worry for now, or ever. Tsuna has no idea who this could be, having no friends that he could name. His mother hadn't been contacted in years. He shrugs his shoulders and walks outside to continue with his sweeping. Those newly washed in leaves had yet to be tackled. Somewhere in Italy, a bearded man that shouldn't have to be fighting at his age fired another round from his gun and cursed when his comrade went down. Where was the Ninth at a time like this? (Was he safe? Was he dead? Iemitsu didn't have the time to worry.)<p>

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><p>About a week later, while sweeping the street in front of his apartment, he gets the feeling that he was supposed to be doing something. This makes no sense, since he had checked off his to-do list and was finishing up for the day (forgetting things was common for him and he wasn't worried). He takes off his hat and stares up at the soon-to-be night sky, wondering to himself why it gave him such a sad and nostalgic feeling. He's too caught up in his own thoughts, and nearly misses the flash of orange light in the corner of his eye. He turns around and a flame dances in front of his face before disappearing and he's never felt more confused in his life. What was that just now? Bending down to pick up his broom (he didn't remember dropping it) and re-adjusting his hat, he wonders if he should eat the last of the sushi tonight (without recalling that he had finished it the day before). Tsuna walks towards the door and can't help but think that he's in the wrong place at the wrong time, and someone somewhere needs his help. But that makes no sense. He hasn't talked to anyone in over a week (three days).<p>

Somewhere in Italy, a family is being wiped out by a psychopath with a fake smile and a ring is crushed to pieces and the dying will disappears.

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><p><em>end<em>


End file.
